


Tiny Vessels

by rightonthelimit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Blood, Demons, Emotional Manipulation, Gore, M/M, Underage Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 02:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rightonthelimit/pseuds/rightonthelimit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things are wrong with Harry. After his parents find four year old Harry scratching words onto the walls, Harry’s condition escalates. Eventually he gets locked up into an psychiatric institute and finds solace in his therapist, Doctor Riddle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tiny Vessels

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [YumeNoTsuzuki (Yumejin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yumejin/pseuds/YumeNoTsuzuki) in the [HarryMort_Prompt_Night](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/HarryMort_Prompt_Night) collection. 



**A/N: Please do not repost, recreate or translate.**

**Tiny Vessels**

_Scratch, scratch, scratch._

_Drip._

‘Harry, what are you doing?’

_Scratch, scratch, scratch._

_Drip._

‘Sweetheart, it’s 3 am… Come, up you go.’

_Scratch, scratch, scratch._

_Drip._

‘Harry, are your-?’

_Scratch, scratch, scratch._

_Drip._

‘Oh my God! James! JAMES!’

_Scratch, scratch, scratch._

_Drip._

‘Whazzit?’

‘Harry’s fingers are bleeding, I – Look what he’s doing to the wall!’

_Scratch, scratch, scratch._

_Drip._

‘Fuck. Harry – come on,  _Harry!_ ’

‘Harry listen to daddy!’

_Scratch, scratch, scratch._

_Drip._

‘Lily call Albus.’

‘But I -’

‘Just do it!’

_Scratch, scratch, scratch._

_Drip._

‘A-Albus? Albus, there’s something wrong with Harry, he’s…. He’s scratching things into his wall, his fingers are bleeding -’

‘FUCK!’

‘James?!’

_Thump._

_Scratch, scratch, scratch._

_Drip._

_Shriek._

‘911, what’s your emergency?’

‘My, my son- my son j-just attacked my husband, and now he’s not moving anymore, there’s blood everywhere -’

‘Please calm down, ma’am. Give us your address and we’ll send an ambulance. Can you describe his wounds?’

_Silence._

‘Ma’am?’

_Silence._

‘Ma’am are you still there?’

_Thump._

_Tap tap tap._

_Giggle._

‘I played with mommy and daddy. They’re red on the inside.’

‘I-I… What?’

‘Mommy and daddy are all over the house now. The house is red. I like red.’

‘Oh my God. Please tell me this is a sick joke, did someone put you up to this -’

‘Mister said people are even more pretty on the inside. I think they’re just wet and gooey. Like pudding.’

_Drip, drip, drip._

‘Bye bye, miss.’

‘No,  _wait_ – tell me where you are, tell me -’

_Beep, beep, beep._

 

* * *

Harry couldn’t scratch these walls.

Harry couldn’t really do much but sleep and dream and scream in fact, and ever since they locked him up in this room and bound his arms behind his back, he hadn’t seen the sunlight anymore.

Some said he was possessed, some said he was psychotic. Mad. Some said that he was the antichrist with the way he had killed his parents at the mere age of four. Harry couldn’t remember any of it, but there remained this persistent urge to scratch at the walls until his fingers would bleed and then scratch harder.

His nurses tended to avoid him, but there was always this one doctor that remained and talked to Harry in the late hours of the night. He said he thought Harry was very beautiful, and that this all wasn’t Harry’s fault. That he thought Harry was fascinating but that that was like a secret. Something between the two of them.

Harry liked secrets. He didn’t have a lot given his entire world was this room with cushioned floors and walls, so they were precious to Harry. Harry liked it when doctor Riddle kissed him and gave him special treats, and he liked the way doctor Riddle could get him to sleep when he was up screaming again.

Doctor Riddle thought Harry was special.

Harry just wanted to go home.

 

* * *

**_He’s coming. It’s here. The devils are amongst us. Enemies of the Lord, beware._ **

_‘Shit. Fucking shit.’_

_Alastor Moody pressed a hand against his mouth as he walked through the Potter house after studying the words that'd been scratched into the walls. Everything was covered in blood and guts, the smell of death stenching up the entire estate._

_‘Where’s the kid?’_

_‘He’s downstairs,’ Kingsley answered in his low, baritone voice, ‘Tonks is with him. He asked for juice and she just texted to say he’s watching tv. He doesn’t want to move.’_

_Alastor Moody has encountered a lot of fucked up things in his entire career, but this may take the cake. There were words scratched into the walls everywhere – some of them not even in English, but all of them foreboding, sending shivers down his spine. Alastor was far from weak, but even he found it hard to be here without feeling the need to vomit._

_‘He’s just a kid,’ Alastor grumbled, ‘a fucking shitty kid.’_

_‘A scary kid,’ Kingsley supplied. Alastor huffed gruffly and walked down the stairs. There was someone from forensics hurling in the bushes outside._

_Yeah, this would be a sight he would never forget alright._

_The boy was still covered in his parents’ blood, sipping from his juice box while Tonks watched him like a hawk. Her eyes were wide and her face was pale. She was trembling._

_‘And what’s up with you?’ Alastor demanded. Tonks opened her mouth but she was too afraid to speak. Harry just clapped his hands and giggled at the tv when a yellow cheese (sponge?) started making hamburgers. He was rocking back and forth, hair matted to his head at random places with blood. His little footed pajamas were soaked with it._

_He seemed completely okay with it._

_Alastor scowled and grabbed the remote, ignoring Tonks’ franctic shaking of her head and switching the tv off._

_‘Kid, you’re in deep shit,’ he snapped. The boy had frozen, now. He wasn’t giggling anymore._ _‘Do you even hear me?’_

_Alastor stalked forwards and gripped the boy’s shoulder. And it happened so fast that Alastor barely had time to register anything but the pain in his leg. It almost blinded him._

_As Alastor lied there screaming helplessly, the boy just smiled sweetly and blinked up at him with his black eyes. Blood sprayed from Alastor's body and Harry dropped Alastor’s leg and then turned the tv on again._

_Alastor passed out at the sight of the stump his thigh had become, and his leg lying just out of his reach on the floor. The boy had ripped off his leg with sheer force._  
  
Harry giggled.

 

* * *

‘And how are you feeling today, Harry?’

Harry just managed a nonsensical shrug, his pupils dilated with how much medicine he’s been forced to take. He was sixteen years old now, and his hands were still tied behind his back. He was probably high.

Doctor Riddle’s eyebrow cocked up and then he walked over to where Harry was seated. He leaned his hands on the armrests of Harry’s chair, gazing intently into Harry’s green eyes. Harry just blinked owlishly at him.

‘Fine, doctor Riddle,’ Harry mumbled demurely. His head was spinning and he felt sleepy. He wanted to nuzzle doctor Riddle’s neck. He was always so warm there.

It was time for their daily therapy session, Harry knew this. Rarely had the thing that forced Harry to be a bad boy, as doctor Riddle referred to it, come out when Riddle was near. Harry didn’t know why. It seemed to like Riddle.

‘How was your sleep?’

‘Not long enough,’ Harry replied honestly. Riddle hummed and brushed his hands through Harry’s hair. He was practically as weak as a newborn kitten right now.

‘Do you want me to make you feel good, lovely?’

Harry nodded weakly. He watched as Riddle went to lock his door and loosened his tie, and the tips of Harry’s fingers twitched restlessly when Riddle walked over and pulled Harry up, Harry’s pants down, bending him over his desk. Harry heard the sound of Riddle’s zipper and closed his eyes.

The beast within him somehow always seemed to relax during these carnal activities.

 

* * *

_‘Harry, this is mister Riddle, your therapist.’_

_Fourteen year old Harry blinked up at a tall man in a white coat. He was handsome and somehow very familiar even though Harry’s never seen him before._

_Harry’s been transferred from foster home to foster home, but no one wanted him. Everyone feared him and his mood swings, even though Harry couldn’t recall hurting anyone. Eventually the latest family he was with, the Dursleys, sent him here after Harry had apparently stabbed Aunt Marge’s dog in the eye and had poked his fingers in the empty eyesocket to chase after the feeling of blood._

_‘You may leave, Ginny. I have this under control,’ doctor Riddle drawled, his eyes not once leaving Harry’s. The other guards seemed reluctant to leave, but eventually they did, and they left Harry alone with Riddle._

_Riddle’s lips were on Harry’s in merely ten minutes._

 

* * *

There was no telling how it had happened, or  _what_ had happened exactly to make a demon of all things possess Harry. He’d been a mere child – four years old, when he had killed for the first time. As the years had passed he had become more violent, yet the only person he did not harm was Tom Riddle.

Many did not understand. They just didn’t  _get_ why Tom of all people should be safe when, essentially, he was the one who was in most danger. He was alone with Harry every day, after all. Help would never come in time if Harry were to attack him.

Tom and Harry had a lot of things in common even if Harry never really thought about it. They were both orphans, they both acted upon their emotions (even if Tom tended to be more subtle about it), they were both clever however untrue that may seemed to be.

And as Tom guided Harry back to his room with two guards to ensure his safety (which was a load of bullocks, anyway), he flashed his black eyes to Harry and watched Harry gasp.

Harry wasn’t the only one with a demon residing within himself.

 

* * *

It was another one of those nights.

Harry was screaming and thrashing around in his sleep with no one around to hear, considering the fact that his room was sound proof. There was blood oozing from a scar he couldn’t recall ever getting, his hands breaking free from the way they’ve been tied behind their back. There was sweat on his brow and tears of blood on his face, everything hazy yet so clear, this need for  _Tom Tom Tom blood killing h e l p m e_ going through him and making him grow as insane as everyone thought he was.

When Ginny walked in to bring him his breakfast the following morning, he ripped her apart. He held her by her ginger hair and bit out her throat, and then clawed at the gaping wound until he could see her spinal cord. 

And then he just walked through the hallways and walked down the stairs in a daze, covered in blood the way he’d been when he’d been merely 4 years old.

No one had the courage to stop him.

 

* * *

‘So you’re saying he was doing better, is that right, mister Riddle?’

‘Yes. He had been showing a significant progress and it is in my firm belief that miss Weasley did something to provoke him. Mister Potter only shows signs of violence whenever he feels like he is being threatened. You have to understand, mister Shacklebolt, that mister Potter lives inside of his mind. He does not perceive things realistically.’

‘He is autistic? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘I would rather say he has a bipolar affective disorder and has experienced a rather severe episode of mania caused by something that triggered him. He appears to have no recollection of anything that has happened.’

‘And what might you suggest we do?’

‘Continue his treatment here. From now on, not only will he be in solitary confinement, but I will ensure he will be under surveillance 24 hours a day and double the amount of therapy session he has with me. I shall see if there is anything I can do with his medication.’

‘I get the feeling that your therapy sessions with him aren’t working, doctor Riddle. Not if Harry’s still out and slaughtering people whenever he has the chance.’

‘Ah, but that is where you are wrong, detective Shacklebolt. I am the only reason why mister Potter hasn’t been the cause of a mass genocide.’

 

* * *

‘I’m very disappointed in you, Harry.’

Harry shuddered when Riddle’s cold fingers caressed the side of his face, closing his eyes.

‘Why?’ he asked. He was confused. He didn’t understand why everyone was treating him this way and why he had to spend a couple of days in prison. It was scary there and people had been mean to him.

‘You had another accident, lovely. Even though I thought I taught you better.’

‘A-Accident?’ Harry stuttered. Riddle hummed and ran a hand through Harry’s hair, standing right behind him and resting his chin on top of Harry’s head as he held him from behind. They were standing in the middle of the office.

‘But I got you covered. Don’t worry, sweet thing. No one’s taking you away from me.’ Harry shuddered as Riddle ran his hands down his sides and then kissed Harry’s temple. The gesture was too sweet for the occasion, too innocent to accompany the intent behind his words.

‘After all – that’s what mates are for.’


End file.
